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The remainder of the tourney was an anticlimax to both Ian and Alinor. Although she had been spared the sight of Ian being prepared for the slaughter by Cantelu and Cornhill, she knew when the worst danger to her husband was past because she saw his enemies ride and limp from the field. When FitzWalter and de Quincy followed soon after, stripped of both swords and shields, it was apparent to her that her plan had worked. Relief from fear should have brought her joy; the king's barely controlled chagrin should have given her pleasure; instead the only emotion that seemed to remain within her was rage. |
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That emotion had its benefits. She sat in a rigid silence, giving no indication that she knew her husband was now safeor as safe as one could be in the midst of a tourney. No matter when he glanced at her, John could not find any sign of relaxation or satisfaction. As much as he hated it, the king was forced to believe that Alinor had no knowledge of any special reason for her husband's good fortune. Pure accident or his own skill had saved Ian de Vipont. Had there been tampering with the tourney, John might have found a way to turn it against Ian. He could not bring himself to believe that so besotted a loon as de Vipont could keep any plan he made from his wife. In fact, it was obvious from the strain Alinor was laboring under that she knew the rumored plot against him. |
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That thought made John utter a faint, high-pitched whine of rage. When he found out who had fouled his plans with so asinine an arrangement, he would inflict |
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